Here it is.
Hope ya like it.
Warnings: Child abuse mentions of cutting and suicide
I don't own Hetalia.
Chapter 13: Chains and Knives
(Matthew's POV)
Light broke my passed out state.
I couldn't see through the blurry haze. I blinked rapidly in hopes of banishing my clouded vision. Ever so slowly where I was became clearer...
My heart began to panic when I saw where I was.
There room was dark except for a light bulb in the center of the ceiling. The little amount of light made the place look eerie. The floor around me was stained with dry blood. The walls and floors were made out of concrete with steps leading up to the first floor. To the side sat an array of knives and... the chains.
My wrists were handcuffed above my head. The handcuffs were chained to the far wall. The handcuffs were covered in old blood along with new due to the fact that while I had been out they had reopened my cuts and were rubbing my wrists raw. My shirt and sweater were thrown to the side... probably to make sure that John wouldn't rip them up with what he was going to do. He quote 'couldn't waste money on new clothes for a boy when the money could be used for beer'. So he just throws my shirt and sweatshirt to the side. He doesn't usually harm my legs... unless he's really mad then he beats everything.
The door at the top of the steps opened to reveal John.
My heart panicked more.
"Yer awake as it seems." He growled.
He began to walk down the steps. He strode across the floor until he was standing in front of me.
I kept my head down with my hair in my face.
"You ready?" I felt his boot connect with my chest.
I whimpered. It hurt so much.
I heard footsteps recede. Then the clanking of a chain. The footsteps began to approach again.
The cool metal touched the warm skin of my neck. I shivered involuntarily. John wrapped the chain around my neck, just loose enough for me to breathe. Barely.
My stomach dropped at the feeling of the familiar chain wrapped around my neck.
The two chains were the ones I hated the most. The one that kept my wrists securely trapped against the wall and the chain wrapped around my neck. One held my hands back and the other kept me from screaming. They had different purposes. The one wrapped around my neck kept me from making any noise. If I began to breathe hard then the chain would suffocate me. Through the entire beating I would need to keep from screaming and keep my breathing slow. Both things are hard to do when your being carved into by knives. This is why I hated the chains. They only had one thing in common, both rubbed my skin raw.
A cool blade touched the skin of my chest.
It dug into the skin. Blood dribbled from the wound. I bit my lip to keep from making any noise.
The blade drew ever so slowly against my skin. It went in a straight line down.
I bit my lip harder.
The agonizing pain.
John brought the blade out of my skin before stabbing down onto my shoulder. He held a sadistic grin.
My teeth ripped the skin of my lip and blood slid down my chin.
My heart rate was quickening. Breath in and out. Don't let your mind over think.
The languish knife slid from my shoulder causing me to slightly cry out. Blood welled from the wound and flowed down my side.
I tried to calm.
John connected the knife to my chest again. He slid it in a jagged line before dragging it up through the cuts he just made.
I bit down harder, trying to steer my mind off of the pain. The crimson slid down my chin before dropping onto the concrete.
Stop. Please stop. My mind begged.
A flash of white came over my vision.
John had slashed across my abdomen.
My mind couldn't work anymore. The chain around my neck felt constricting. It was no longer cold, but warm from my blood.
The pain soon became numbness.
I don't know how long this went on. I couldn't tell how long it had been. Minutes felt like hours and I had closed my eyes a long time ago.
The chain was lifted from around my neck and my arms fell to my sides after being un-cuffed.
"You were a good boy, now weren't ya? Clean up yourself and my knives before making dinner. Understand." John sneered.
I nodded, but didn't dare open my eyes until he was gone.
Nothing hurt. I couldn't feel my arms. They had been suspended above my head for too long.
Slowly I lifted my hand up to touch my neck. I flinched back. It stung.
With as much strength as I could muster I forced myself to my feet.
My clouded state stumbled myself up the steps. Somehow I ended up in the bathroom. My shaky hands grabbed a gauze. I sat down on the floor. Half of my wounds had crusted over with dry blood. I wrapped up my neck first. Then I washed my wrists, the water becoming a pink color, before wrapping them up too.
My chest was an entirely different story though. It felt like forever to get the cuts cleaned up. It stung so bad. Then I wrapped it up too.
I went back down the stairs and slid back on my shirt and sweatshirt.
I set to work cleaning up Johns knives with an old rag. I had a hard time believing that the blood on them was mine.
An hour later I had finished cleaning them. The dull blades shined.
Sighing I set to making dinner.
Dinner went as usual; John breaking something and me getting the leftovers.
Through all of this though I felt dread.
I couldn't do this anymore. The pain cut too deep. It was too hard. I couldn't fend off the thoughts of suicide the entire night. Reasons of why I hated myself kept resurfacing. It hurt so much.
When I went to sleep the horrid nightmare woke me up.
I couldn't fend off the thoughts though.
Self loathing and depression.
I pulled out my knife.
My finger ran along the blade slightly. The hilt felt sound in my hand.
My decision was made final.
I brought the knife up and then down.
Aimed straight at my heart.
.
.
.
.
The knife wavered just a centimeter away from where my heart is.
It slid from my grasp.
The clanging sound it made when it hit the floor was deafening.
I couldn't do it.
Tears fell from my eyes.
I couldn't kill myself.
.
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